THE ROLLING STONES: IT'S ONLY ROCK'N'ROLL (1974)
1) If You Can't Rock Me; 2)
Ain't Too Proud To Beg; 3) It's Only Rock'n'Roll;
4) Till The Next Goodbye; 5) Time Waits For No One;
6) Luxury; 7) Dance Little Sister; 8) If You
Really Want To Be My Friend; 9) Short And Curlies;
10) Fingerprint File.
This is where the rot sets in for real.
Ironically, on an individual level most of these songs still sound decent — but
when taken all together, they combine in the single ugliest «give the people
what you think they want» package assembled by the Rolling Stones so far.
Perhaps a proper sleeve photo for this record should not have come from under the
paintbrush of Guy Peellaert (who also designed the sleeve for Bowie's Diamond Dogs that same year), but from
a stillshot taken from the accompanying video for ʽAin't Too Proud To Begʼ —
featuring Mick Jagger in white, pink, green, and lotsa blue around the eyes, as
if he was really taking his cues from Bowie but ended up looking like an old
drunk drag queen instead. Throw in a vacant-stare Keith, beset with dental
problems, a disinterested rhythm section with an «at least we're getting paid»
attitude, and a bewildered Mick Taylor, clearly going through a «what the hell
am I doing here with these junked-out
freaks?» phase — and it is not difficult to understand why It's Only Rock'n'Roll, mildly speaking, rarely finds itself in the
company of the most respected Stones albums.
Personnel-wise, the biggest change is that
Jimmy Miller is no longer involved: due to his own drug addiction and to Mick
thinking he had fallen into a «producer's rut» and was no longer contributing
as efficiently to the band's sound as he used to, he was dumped, and The
Glimmer Twins settled upon producing the album themselves. This results in a
much more unified and predictable guitar sound — even despite the presence of
at least three session keyboardists, all of them Stones veterans by now (Nicky
Hopkins, Billy Preston, and Ian Stewart), It's
Only Rock'n'Roll pretty much justifies its title, and does so
intentionally: the idea here was, quite clearly, to make something sweaty,
gritty, nasty, and quite straightforward. No psychedelia, no artsy detours, no
experimental weirdness, just rock. And some ballads for a change.
The three crunchy rockers that act as main
pillars in the structure — ʽIf You Can't Rock Meʼ, title track, and ʽDance
Little Sisterʼ — are okay-like Stones rockers, yet the well was clearly running
dry. ʽIf You Can't Rock Meʼ is a weak echo of ʽRocks Offʼ, not just because it
is another song with the word ʽrockʼ in the title that opens a Stones album,
but because it works as a personal anthemic statement; only this time, it's all
about "simply dyin' for some thrills and spills", never going beyond primal
urges — and instead of the creepy, unpredictable, drop-down-a-rabbit-hole
mid-section of ʽRocks Offʼ, here the instrumental mid-section seems quickly
slapped together by Keith in a few seconds just because, you know, gotta have a
quick change of key in there somewhere. Likewise, ʽDance Little Sisterʼ is
merely a variation on ʽBrown Sugarʼ, except even more repetitive and lyrically
shallow — fun as a quick rock'n'roll romp, totally forgettable in the long run;
unfortunately, this would become the blueprint for quite a big bunch of C-grade
Stones rockers in the coming years.
Only the title track managed to become a
«classic» of sorts, as Mick has stubbornly hanged on to it as a live favorite —
well, apparently, it doesn't hurt to remind the fans at every show that
"it's only rock'n'roll, but I like it". It does have more bite than
the other two: delivered in classic menacing mid-tempo, the way things were in
the great old Let It Bleed / Ya-Ya's era, it features Mick reeling
and reveling in his «champion of rock'n'roll» emploi, poking fun at his
dedicated audience and at the same time using it for his own leery purposes. In
another bout of irony, the rest of
this album may really be "only rock'n'roll", but this particular song is something more — it's got a slightly
sinister touch to it, with a grinning rather than just bulky-punchy tone from
Keith and a touch of the old Satanic-satiric attitude from Mick (nothing of that, unfortunately, has ever
been transmitted from the studio recording to the stage, which is why I rarely,
if ever, find solace in any of the live versions of this song). If they ever
wanted to write a musical about The Midnight Rambler, ʽIt's Only Rock'n'Rollʼ
could easily belong there — and not just because of the line about sticking a
knife in one's heart (what's it with Mick Jagger and sticking knives in various
parts of one's body, anyway?).
Funny and symbolically enough, ʽIt's Only
Rock'n'Rollʼ was one of the few songs here that did not feature Mick Taylor in
any form (he's there in the infamous sailors-and-bubbles video for the song,
mostly looking like a deeply bored extra), but did feature Ronnie Wood on
acoustic rhythm guitar — the hand of fate saw to it that Wood should contribute
to the anthemic song that pretty much closed the door on one era and opened it
on the next one. As it is, one can clearly see why Taylor took the fateful
decision to leave the band after the album was completed: it was not just
because Mick and Keith would not let him anywhere near the songwriting process
(and even took away those few credits that he did openly deserve, as it was with
ʽTime Waits For No Oneʼ), but also because he
did not really feel like he'd signed up to play "only rock'n'roll". He'd
never felt completely at home with the band since day one, but with things
becoming more and more posh and garish with every day, by 1974 he was about as
much out of place with the Stones as Tony Iommi was out of place with Jethro
Tull back in 1968. On Goats Head Soup,
his sound was still in demand — you had ʽ100 Years Agoʼ, ʽWinterʼ, and even
ʽSilver Trainʼ, songs that would never have been the same without his distinct
touch. On It's Only Rock'n'Roll, is
there even a single song where you could say, «okay, this is a definitive Mick Taylor highlight»?
Well, one: ʽTime Waits For No Oneʼ, a
Latin-tinged ballad reflecting Mick's inherent fear of aging — and extended
with a lengthy solo from Taylor, this time really
sounding like Carlos Santana in spots (and in other spots, like Clapton in his
Derek & The Dominos period: you can easily spot chord changes very similar
to Eric's soloing on ʽLaylaʼ or ʽWhy Does Love Got To Be So Sadʼ). Although the
song does not reach the heights of aching beauty that the Stones, at one time,
used to hit almost effortlessly, it is still a highlight on this record; and
its genre peculiarities and unusual structure prevent it from sharing the same
fate as ʽTill The Next Goodbyeʼ, which is also a nice ballad, but sounds too
much like a pale shadow of ʽWild Horsesʼ and ʽMoonlight Mileʼ (ah, where was
Paul Buckmaster?) to become truly endearing.
Alas, there is little that Mick Taylor can do,
either, from preventing this album to feature two of the very, very worst
Stones tracks of the decade. ʽLuxuryʼ is an attempt to mix hard rock with elements
of reggae, including a cringeworthy «Jamaican» accent from Mr. Red Suit, Green
Tie, Blue Makeup, but not including any musical ideas or dynamic development
beyond the first 20 seconds of the song — and it goes on for a bleedin' five
minutes, and you don't even get to decide if Jagger is lambasting stereotypes
or sings about his own rotten self. And then there's the music hall show hour,
with ʽShort And Curliesʼ, three minutes of mediocre barrelhouse piano fun whose
chief task is to test how many times it is possible to chant "she's got
you by the balls" before the line ends up offending every respectable
housewife in the country. (Not that any of them ever heard it, since they
wisely refrained from releasing it as a single).
These two songs are quite emblematic of the
problem: It's Only Rock'n'Roll
catches the Stones in a period where «focus» and «self-control» simply got lost
in the overall dizziness and haze. Had they been a band of lesser stature, the
record would probably be as colorless and boring as anything by latter-day
Bloodrock or Steppenwolf; as it was, they could still be capable of solid
quality or incidental greatness, but neither was strictly guaranteed. Their big
love for classic soul and R'n'B no longer helps them out on either covers
(ʽAin't Too Proud To Begʼ has Mick behaving too much like a clown — even without the video — and features a
guitar solo from Keith that is as rotten and broken up as his teeth at the
time) or originals (ʽIf You Really Want To Be My Friendʼ is almost on the verge of getting it on, but
is still spoiled by too much barking from Mick); and their great talent for
depth and ambiguity is barely felt on any of the songs.
At the very least, they manage to pull it
together on the final track. ʽFingerprint Fileʼ is not one of those tracks that
makes your spine tingle with genuine terror, but as far as the art of
meaningful rock theater goes, it is one of the finest tracks from 1974. This is
the Stones' first (and second to last) entanglement with straightahead funk
music, and what makes it so unusual is, perhaps, the weird role reversal
adopted for the session: Mick on heavily phased rhythm guitar, Keith on wah-wah
lead guitar, Taylor on funky bass, and Wyman on synthesizer (plus Preston and
Hopkins both with additional keyboard parts). This results in a really, really
odd sound overall, as if the entire track had been recorded inside a
refrigerator by a pack of cyborgs — and this oddity goes way beyond the song's
lyrical topic of being plagued by FBI agents. The whole thing is more like a
general summary of all the paranoia and nervous tension hiding behind the
superficial glitz and decadence, an excellent cool-it-off conclusion to the
cheap feast of life celebrated on most of the rest of the record. But most
importantly, it is just a one-of-a-kind musical groove, a befuddling network of
croaky guitars, shadowy keyboards, and constipated vocal gymnastics that
succeeds just by being so manifestly over-the-top — all the players get into
this spectacle with the same verve that the rock'n'roll troops of the Stones
got into the fiery groove of ʽRip This Jointʼ two albums ago. And the way this
record opened, with a crash-boom-bang of the most obnoxious order, you'd never
have guessed how it would end — on a spooky "good night, sleep tight"
whisper that leaves you hiding away in some deep buried bunker, rather than
safely and cozily tucked in a nice, clean bed by your loving grandmother, Mrs.
Ringo Starr.
So, ʽFingerprint Fileʼ alone is nice, solid
proof that the Stones were anything but spent as a creative force — more like
seriously derailed, lost in a mess of ever-worsening problems, with Keith
continuing to deteriorate as a musician and Mick simply having too many things other than music on his mind. Arguably,
this is the band's lowest point in the Seventies (some would argue for Black & Blue instead, but I
profoundly disagree), and although I would never propose deleting it from the
catalog or anything, 1974 clearly found them in their worst artistic dire
straits to that date — much worse than 1967, which found them bravely surviving
against legal odds: in 1974, they had to fight themselves to survive as the Rolling Stones, which is always a much
tougher challenge. Perhaps Mick's hysterical cry of "if you can't rock me,
somebody will!" really betrays his inner fears — those of the band
ultimately becoming irrelevant, obsolete, laughed-at, a self-parody act to
spook off little children — but It's
Only Rock'n'Roll does precious little to overcome these fears. Like
everything else they did, it loyally hit #1 all over the world, but even with
their minds clouded with drugs, booze, women, and partying, they probably
understood it wasn't because of the poetic genius of ʽShort And Curliesʼ. At least
Mick Taylor did.
I think when Mick's talking about sticking his knife in various parts of your body, he talks about wanting to fuck you in more ways than one.
ReplyDeleteThat's my sleep-deprived interpretation, at any rate.
"Fingerprint File" is amazing. One of the weirdest, wildest, most craziest things I've heard from the Stones.
Also, FF has very interesting and unusual lyrics for the Stones standards.
DeleteStubbornly hung on, unless you're referring to the mode of execution.
ReplyDeleteVery good article. Maybe 1974 was the worst moment for these guys. They delivered a very poor album. The title track, not a bad one, was stolen from Ron Wood according to several sources. I agree that Fingerprint is the best track here. The most innovative, interesting and enjoyable song. After IORNR they have offered bad, mediocre and good albums. And a few very good individual tracks like Start Me Up and Miss You. But all was product. And nothing was as fresh, innovative and cool as their material from the 1966 - 1972 years. But those years were so great that the RS deserve a place at the Rock & Roll Olympus, up there with The Beatles, Hendrix, Byrds, etc.. Saludos. ENRIQUE CHADICOV
ReplyDeleteGeorge would seem to have soured on this one in recent years. It was obviously never a Stones masterpiece, but I nonetheless expected a moderate thumbs up at the end of the day. Perhaps it's because albums like this demonstrate why The Rolling Stones never quite developed the same degree of cross-generational appeal as other 'classic' rock acts like Pink Floyd, The Doors, Velvet Underground, Led Zeppelin etc. It's Only Rock 'n Roll kind of initiates the process of the Stones growing old disgracefully, to a degree that would prove embarrassing for the bulk of post-Boomers; even astonishing achievements like Let it Bleed, Satanic Majesties, and Sticky Fingers would be overrun by a deluge of 'too old to rock 'n roll' snark for many a younger classic rock fan.
ReplyDeleteStill, there are some damn good songs on this album, and that shouldn't be forgotten.
Thumbs up or thumbs down? Maybe neither up nor down...
ReplyDeleteFine review as always, and a good summation of the "enjoyable but ehhh" nature of many of these songs. I only disagree about "Luxury"; I can't argue with any of your individual points regarding the song, but it's my favorite track on the album, a big, rip-roaring, and incredibly catchy rock song.
ReplyDeleteThis was the last time but one the Stones released an album within the next calendar year after their prior album release. It seems they were out of ideas, which is hard to believe after their fecundity since the late 1960s as demonstrated via bootlegs and bonus discs. I think they were just out of gas after too much press and partying. You get that feeling the way Mick goes on about celebrity martyrdom. At least when he revisited these waters on "Emotional Rescue," he had more of a sense of humor about it.
ReplyDelete